


No More Nightmares

by nevertrustaduckmsn



Category: The Dark Artifices Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Grief/Mourning, Heartache, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sad and Happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-12-06 21:50:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18225851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nevertrustaduckmsn/pseuds/nevertrustaduckmsn
Summary: A short fic about what might have happened when Ty and Kit get back to their tent after failing to ressurect Livvy. I swear it doesn't suck as much as the title does :)





	No More Nightmares

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for giving my fic a chance, I hope you enjoy! This is the first fanfic I've ever written, let alone published online so I'm slightly nervous. Any feedback is welcome! Xx

"It's okay. It's okay, everything's going to be okay." The surrounding woods were spinning around and around Kit Herondale as he held tightly on to Ty Blackthorn. The world was tilting and twirling, the tall dark trees that they passed mere shadows at the corners of Kit's vision, but all he could do was keep going. He had one arm wrapped tightly around Ty's shoulders, the other clutching his elbow so tight it would be a wonder if Ty wasn't in pain. He had to keep Ty grounded, force him forward back to camp. But how was he supposed to do that if he didn't even feel grounded himself? Ty was whimpering into his hands, pale long fingers moving wildly. When Livvy - or Not Livvy - disappeared, he had slumped onto the ground, crying out in agony. The dam he had built against his prying grief unleashed all the emotions he had tried to ignore in one forceful and destructive flood. All that hope, all that planning was for nothing; Livvy was gone. She had been gone. And there was nothing Ty could do about that. These thoughts ran frantically through Kit's mind as he held onto the boy he had grown so close to, the boy whose hopes he had been too afraid to destroy. But he should have destroyed them before any of this happened.

How much of an idiot was he? Kit had known - he had _known_ \- how risky performing necromancy was. He should have voiced his fears, tried to convey the bad feelings he harboured in his heart. But he hadn't, he had gone along with Ty's plans and helped him, stood by his side through thick and thin because– Because. Kit pushed the thought out of his head as they finally reached their tent. Ty's crying had stopped, replaced with an empty and painful silence. Kit released the other boy, reaching down to unzip the tent door. Ty followed him quietly into the tent, collapsing onto their shared double blow up mattress. Kit closed the tent and nestled down in his sleeping bag in a dark blur. His mind was swimming with thoughts, incoherent and distant. But he didn't need to think to know how he was feeling; his heart told no lies. Within it an ever growing ache lay. Kit knew it was for Ty's loss of hope, loss of Livvy – in part. He also knew there was a selfishness to that ache, as in his mind the haunting image appeared of Ty's face when Kit had told him that– Well. When he had told him. Shock, confusion - momentary shock, momentary confusion. Ty had gone back to summoning Livvy seconds later. Because of course, it didn't matter to him how Kit felt. He was so focused, so obsessed with resurrecting Livvy. The thought of her coming back was all that mattered to him, Kit imagined, these past few weeks. Kit felt increasingly guilty as the minutes wore on. Ty was Ty, he was drowning in grief and he didn't owe Kit anything. Kit should have kept his feelings to himself. After all, now that they were out in the open, he felt like he was suffocating. When Ty had fallen to his knees outside the summoning circle, Kit had stood still and unmoving in shock, in hurt, who knew. Finally, he had moved to help Ty, urge him to come with him back to camp. Ty had been inconsolable and seemed not even to realise Kit was there. Now, back to him, Ty's ragged breathing had evened out and his hands lay still by his head on the pillow. When he was awake, Ty was always thrumming with energy, enthusiastic and so _alive_. Now as he slept, his breathing shallow and his skin paler than moonlight, he could have passed as a corpse. Kit watched the back of his head until his eyes blurred with unshed tears. What would happen when Ty woke up? What would he do? Say? Maybe he would turn inwards, isolate himself from others just as Kit had done all those years before he discovered he was a Shadowhunter. Before he had found his freedom, his sense of belonging. Before he had found Ty. "Enough," Kit whispered to himself, and turned in his sleeping bag to face the wall of the tent. "That's enough."

For what felt like hours, he lay still so as not to wake Tiberius, cold and feeling more alone than ever. When his mind finally quietened and his fear and guilt were replaced with an empty calmness, he fell into a fitful sleep. His dreams consisted of looming shadows and silvery ghosts, and throughout it all, he heard that beautiful unknown voice singing; that song, the one he knew without knowing how or why.  _The story that I love you, it has no end._

When the sun was just beginning to rise in the early morning sky, Tiberius woke up. Blinking in the dim light, he noted how heavy his eyelids felt. How dry his eyes felt. He knew from experience that this always happened the morning after crying himself to sleep. Yet in his listless, half-asleep state, he couldn't seem to remember why he would have been crying the night before. He had a dull ache in his right temple, which was pressed against his pillow. The pillow was damp and cold, a small observation that left his mind as soon as it was made. Groaning slightly, he rolled over onto his other side — and faced Kit.

Kit's golden hair was a rumpled mess, the exact shade of the pale, long eyelashes that fanned out over his cheeks as he slept. The collar of his shirt hung loose, exposing his sharp collarbone. His lightly freckled face held a solemn expression, one that filled Ty's sleepy being with a sense of dread that he couldn't explain. Kit had the beauty of a Faerie, as absurd as Ty knew it was, especially considering the beauty of most faeries was of a cruel and bitter nature. Kit was gentle. He always was gentle, and particularly while asleep, it appeared. Yet as his half-lidded eyes watched his companion, Ty saw a strange likeness to Kieran, the dark and brooding gentry fey his brother Mark seemed to like so much. Just as Ty closed his tired eyes, the memory of the first time he had met Kit came flooding back to him. He had pinned him against the wall, with a knife to his throat and Kit had stared him down, a peculiar expression on his face, almost as if he recognised Ty — though that was impossible. Now, opening his grey eyes once more, Ty gave Kit another long look. One of his hands lay against his pillow as he lay on his side. Reaching out slowly, Ty pressed his palm against Kit's as gently as he could. Kit's hand was warm, his finger tips reaching just below where Ty's fingernails began. Small. Out of the blue another memory came to Ty, this time from before he even knew Kit existed. Malcolm had come over – why did Ty burn with anger at the thought of the eccentric, forgetful warlock? – and Ty and his siblings had watched that disastrous romance film with him. Afterward, his brother Julian had told Ty that when you love someone, it's not about chasing them to the airport or other grand gestures. When you care about someone, it just means you see them. Now, Ty felt a strange sense of comfort settle over him. A small part of him knew it was temporary and that it wouldn't last until morning, but he relaxed into it anyway. Intertwining his pale long fingers with Kit's tanned shorter ones, he took one last look at the golden boy a world away from him. "You see them," Ty told himself quietly, before closing his eyes and letting the chirping of the awakening birds lull him back to sleep.

Side by side, the two boys slept, hand in hand and sharing dark dreams. Those dreams would worsen as the morning drew closer, and their hands would be torn from each other's as they tried to fight away the dark shadows. But for now, they just were, two figures in the dim light. And maybe, just maybe, some day far in the future, they would lie like this again and there would be no more nightmares. 


End file.
